


Ol’ Factory

by dirigibleplumbing



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Merchandise, Cologne, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Quote: I understood that reference, Scents & Smells, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: Life as an Avenger can be weird. There’s a giant robot in the living room, for one thing. And people keep telling Steve he smells like freedom. Though he’s starting to have an idea of who’s behind that…





	Ol’ Factory

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno y’all. 
> 
> This doesn’t take place during any particular time in canon. It could even be after canon. It’s most like 2012-era domestic Avengers (though there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of Sam). All the Avengers are friends (yes, ALL of them) who live together in Avengers Tower, and Nat is still setting Steve up on dates. 
> 
> For the “I understood that reference” square of my MCU Stony bingo card.
> 
> Thanks to the glorious [dasyatidae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dasyatidae/pseuds/dasyatidae) for beta!

 

“You really do smell like Freedom,” Kristina says after the server takes their orders and leaves them alone at the table. Steve’s been letting Natasha set him up on blind dates again, figuring it can’t hurt to meet new people. When it comes to actually making conversation with strangers, though, he’s reminded why he stopped bothering.

He’d think it was a joke, or just let it go without understanding, except it’s not the first time someone’s said that to him. Steve lost count somewhere after the fifth time he’s heard that remark. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Like from the scent line.” She looks at him like this is one of those things that should be obvious. _Obviously, Steve, that person isn’t talking to himself, he’s wearing a tiny phone headset. Of course there are whole lines of clothing exclusively for dogs, obviously. Obviously, those glowing sticks people smoke are electronic cigarettes, because if cigarettes were missing anything, it was circuitry._ Obviously _._

All he can do is repeat, “Scent line?”

“Oh, you don’t know? It’s a whole series,. You can get aromatherapy candles, colognes and perfumes, air fresheners, laundry detergent, whatever. The last guy I went out with wore Genius at Work. There’s Smash, Widowmaker…” At his gaping expression, she trails off.

“It’s Avengers, uh, scents?” What would that even look like, or smell like? Who would want that?

“It’s not, like, licensed or anything, I don’t think. The company is called Ol’ Factory. But everyone knows what the theme is. They just added Wingman. You aren’t wearing Freedom?” she sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “I figured you must be in on some sort of stealth marketing campaign with them or something.”

Oh, stealth marketing, of course. _Obviously_.

The rest of the dinner passes smoothly enough. Kristina does some sort of analysis for SHIELD, something with statistics from field reports, maybe. She smiles knowingly when Steve calls her a cab and hugs her goodnight. “I’ll catch you around, Captain.”

It’s not late when he gets back to the tower on his bike. He’s wondering what to do with himself for the rest of the night when the elevator doors open on the common floor to reveal… a giant robot? He’s certainly seen, uh, gianter. This one still fits inside the room, though just barely—it’s sitting, silver legs bent at an inhuman angle straight from its narrow torso, and its head is still brushing the ceiling. Well, its ears are. Antennae? It’s like its wearing a blue helmet over its chrome head. Even with that, the head looks tiny, narrow, compared to the expanse of its blocky red shoulders. Which have what appear to be rocket launchers mounted on them. It isn’t moving, so maybe it’s disabled. Which begs the question of how it got inside in the first place.

“Hello?” Steve tries.

“What’s that?” a voice yells from the kitchen. “Someone talking to me?”

“Tony, is there a, um, robot, in the living room?”

Tinkling laughter and slippered footsteps come in reply. Steve feels his face heat and tries to conceal his blush as Tony pads in. So this is one of those things he’s just supposed to get. Obviously.

But Tony says, “Sorry, I didn’t think what it would look like to you when you came in. I should’ve warned you. This is Optimus Prime. He’s a surprise for Clint.”

“Optimus Prime?” Steve repeats, still eyeing the bulky metal form. It sounds like math.

“Shit, right. It’s a toy. A TV show? Kinda hard to explain. Pop culture is weird,” he muses. Steve notices then that Tony is wearing a canvas apron that says _Iron Chef_ and holding a wooden spoon.

“Were you cooking?” Steve asks.

Tony’s eyes bug comically. “Oh crap, my chocolate!” He clutches at his hair and turns to jog toward the kitchen.

Steve follows him.

“He can turn into a big-rig truck,” Tony explains over his shoulder as he goes. “Transformers, it’s called.”

“Is it a good TV show? Should I add it to the list?”

Tony chuckles. It’s a warm sound, and Steve feels, for once, like he’s included in a joke—even one he doesn’t understand—instead of the butt of it. “Dunno if it’s really your thing.”

“Do you like it?”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” Tony replies, taking position in front of the stove and inspecting the pot of chocolate simmering on a front burner. “But Clint loves it, the nerd. I owe him a present so I thought: robot.”

Steve smiles. “I understood that reference,” he says, knowing Tony’s choice of words was entirely for his benefit.

“You’d make Clint’s year if you watch it with him, though. Hey, how was your date?” Tony asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“It was okay,” Steve answers automatically. Tony turns back to the stove and Steve finally takes in the scene before him. The air smells faintly singed. The kitchen island, a bar cart, a folding table, and all the counters are covered in saucepans, rubber spatulas, and measuring implements. Tony has a digital kitchen scale next to the burner where he’s working, and he’s examining a bright red thermometer. “Tony, what are you doing?”

“Teaching myself chocolatiering.” He says it like that’s not an odd thing to be doing on a Friday evening in the Avengers’ shared space.

“Why?” Steve asks. Doesn’t Tony usually have dates on Fridays? Now Tony’s staring at Steve’s hair, which he’s just now realizing must be a mess from his helmet. Steve shuffles his feet and tries not to blush again under the scrutiny.

“I figured it might be more my style than regular cooking,” Tony replies, reaching for the nearest spatula and examining it. “There's more precision and applied science than intuition. There’s, you know, a smaller number of possible ingredients, and you can rely on them to be consistent, so I can get to know everything there is about each material I’m working with—no surprises. Or so I hoped. It’s harder than I thought,” he admits. “I thought it would be more like chemistry, or helping Bruce in his lab. It’s not my main thing, but I’m not so bad at chemistry.”

A thought occurs to Steve, spurred on by the astringent smell of burnt cocoa. “Yeah? How about the chemistry of scents?”

“Hmmm? Why do you ask?” Tony sounds casual, but he’s turned away from Steve now, covering the movement by grabbing a whisk and licking it experimentally.

Steve doesn’t let himself be distracted by how Tony’s tongue winds around the twines of the whisk, how he flicks his tongue at a corner of his mouth to try to snag a glob of melted chocolate that’s stuck there. “Did you know. People keep telling me I smell like Freedom.”

Tony freezes for a moment, then starts rapidly stirring a pan that Steve thinks might be empty. “They do, huh?”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?” Now Tony is staring at him, challenging.

“Did you make a line of Avengers scents?”

Tony crosses his arms and grins defiantly. He leans against the counter, knocking some pans and bowls together. “You got me, Cap. They’re great, aren’t they?”

“And the Captain America one smells like me.”

“Well, who else would it smell like?”

“George Washington?” Steve suggests. “I meant how did you get it to smell so much like me that strangers on the subway mention it to me?”

“Well sure, it sounds creepy when you say it that way!”

“ _Is_ it creepy?”

“I didn’t steal your gym shorts and take them to the lab with me or anything like that,” Tony grumbles.

“So you just—know what I smell like,” Steve says slowly. Knows really well, apparently. Tony pouts at him, and it’s too much, the way his face scrunches up, the shape his lips make, how his eyes are glistening.

Steve’s impulse is to stop himself, but he thinks, _why_? And then he’s leaning into Tony’s space, his hand reaching up to Tony’s jaw. Tony isn’t moving, still meeting his eyes resolutely, and Steve kisses him. He wonders if Tony tastes like the Genius at Work cologne smells. (He’s sure he’s going to find out.) For now, the Tony-ness is in part overwhelmed by the acrid, earthy aroma of the burnt chocolate and singed sugar, but the feeling of Tony’s face so close to his—the velvety swipe of their tongues together, the way Tony’s pawing at him and straining against him—is just fine.

When they break apart, Tony’s smile is incandescent. “So all I had to do to get some action was create a line of products that smells like you?”

Steve’s still holding Tony’s head in his hands. He leans it down, gently, to press his face into Tony’s hair. “You just had to be you, Tony.” Tony’s grin somehow widens, and the way his eyes are sparkling is hypnotizing. Steve smiles back and adds, “Obviously.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [on Tumblr](http://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/). And here's [a Tumblr post](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/174427910417/ol-factory) for the fic.


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